Reorientation
by sasha1600
Summary: Tim gets an unexpected lesson from Gibbs. Warning: discussion of spanking of adults. Don’t like? Don’t read!
1. Chapter 1

**Reorientation**

**Summary**: Tim gets an unexpected lesson from Gibbs. **Warning**: discussion of spanking of adults. Don't like? Don't read!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em.

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A/N: This is part of my discipline series and builds on a larger plot arc. It should make sense on its own, but there are references to things that have happened in my other stories and it is probably best enjoyed after reading my other Tim-focused fics. This is set late in season 4, sometime after Cover Story and before Angel of Death. There's no tag to a specific episode for the events in this story, but it refers to the fact that McGee is a Youth Ranger leader, which we learn in season 5 in Lost and Found... I have trouble believing that Tim turning up with a bunch of kids was the first that Gibbs heard of that part of his life.

Thanks to draggon-flye for help with brainstorming.

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**Warning: this is part of a discipline series that contains the spanking of adults. If you have a problem with that, click on that 'back' button now. You've been warned.**

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Gibbs stepped out of the elevator and paused, surprised not to be the first member of his team in the office in the morning. He recovered quickly, though, and headed towards his desk.

McGee was seated at his own desk, which was covered with papers, and appeared to be reading off of two different computer screens, his lips moving slightly in concentration.

When he got closer, Gibbs could see that most of the papers were topographical maps and the rest appeared to be handbooks on how to read them. Somewhat perplexed, Gibbs set his coffee down on his desk and stepped over to stand beside his young agent. Reading over his shoulder, he could see that the computers were displaying more guides to map-reading.

'What's all this?'

McGee jumped, not having noticed his boss's approach. Gibbs bit back his comment about being aware of one's surroundings. He was curious about the sudden interest in land-nav exercises, and he knew he wouldn't get much of an explanation if he paired his question with a criticism.

'Oh... uh... hi, Boss. I... uh... didn't see you come in.'

Gibbs smiled, and waited. McGee finally realised that he hadn't answered the question.

'It's, uh... maps... mainly.'

'Well, yeah, McGee... I can see that.'

'And I'm... uh... trying to figure out how to... you know... read them.'

'Why?'

'Well, I thought it would be a useful skill to have... as... uh... a field agent...'

Tim trailed off, realising that Gibbs wasn't buying the explanation.

'And that's why you're here at 0700 on a Monday morning?'

'Ok... but don't laugh... No, of course you'll laugh... but... uh... never mind.'

'Tim! What's going on?'

Gibbs now sounded concerned, wondering what had his agent so rattled.

'IneedtolearnhowtoreadmapssoIcanteachthekids.'

'What? Hold on. A little slower, McGee, ok?'

'I'm a Youth Ranger leader, and I need to take a bunch of kids out to work on their orienteering badges. Which means I need to learn something about... well... this...'

McGee waved his hands over his desk in a gesture of dismay.

'When?'

'Saturday!'

'_This_ Saturday?'

'Well, I was going to do all this earlier, but then we got caught up with the Daniels case... and... uh... yeah.'

'Ok.'

Gibbs returned to his desk and picked up the first of the files that he had to review. He looked up every few minutes, watching McGee shuffle the various papers around his desk with an expression of utter confusion and despair on his face. Finally, the Director arrived and Gibbs bounded up the stairs after her.

When he returned, Tony was just sitting down.

'DiNozzo!'

He sprang back onto his feet.

'Yeah, Boss!'

'Take tomorrow off. You put in more than enough overtime on the Daniels case; you deserve a day's leave.'

'Uh... who are you and what have you done with my boss?'

'Seriously, Tony... you've been working all hours. Stay home. Sleep late. Watch a movie.'

'Uh... ok?'

Tony still didn't sound entirely sure that Gibbs was serious.

Gibbs turned towards Tim, who was looking at him with a 'what about me?' expression that made him seem much younger.

'I'll pick you up at 0600, McGee.'

The look of despair was almost comical.

'Uh, Boss?'

'Bring your hiking gear, and your map.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm going to teach you how to read the damn thing! You learn by doing, Tim, not by memorising something off the internet.'

McGee felt a rush of relief at the thought that his boss was going to show him what he needed to know.

Followed quickly by a rush of horror at the thought that his boss was going to show him what he needed to know.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim sat cross-legged on the floor, shoving the last of his stuff into his backpack.

He'd tried explaining to Gibbs that 'orienteering', for Youth Rangers, was a foot-race as well as a map-reading problem, and that minimal gear was usually carried. It wasn't meant to be a Marine land-nav exercise carried out with 40lb packs.

Gibbs had all-too-reasonably pointed out that organised orienteering events come with officials and first-aid stations and people who know if you are missing too long, and that it was sheer stupidity to head into a national forest without appropriate equipment when there wasn't that kind of infrastructure in place. After chewing him out for apparently planning to take a bunch of _kids_ out for a hike without the ability to deal with a skinned knee, much less a genuine crisis, his boss had ordered him to be 'ready', whatever that meant.

As he tested the weight of the over-stuffed bag, McGee figured that he was probably as close as he'd ever get to satisfying the former Marine.

When Gibbs knocked on his door promptly at 6, Tim grabbed his bag and keys, expecting that they would leave right away. Instead, Gibbs stepped into his overcrowded living-room, relieved him of the backpack, and emptied it onto the floor.

'Hey!'

'Gotta check your kit, McGee. Can't do that if I can't see what you've got in here.'

McGee struggled to contain his outrage as Gibbs poked through the pile of stuff, arranging most of it back in the bag more neatly than he'd managed himself. _Just great_, he thought, _Gibbs thinks he's back in the Corps, and I'm the idiot recruit who needs extra attention. _

An umbrella and, to Tim's relief, a large, rather heavy, tarp, were tossed unceremoniously to one side.

'You got a couple of big plastic garbage bags, McGee?'

'Uh, sure, I think so...'

'Good, grab a few of them. You can use them for waterproofing, if you need them. They're lighter than the tarp to carry, and since we're only planning to be out for a few hours, you only need to bring enough to get by in an emergency, not set up a luxury camp.'

McGee headed for the kitchen to find the bags, deciding not to comment on Gibbs's definition of 'luxury'.

He returned to find Gibbs holding up his flashlight.

'You got extra batteries for this?'

'It doesn't use batteries, Boss. You wind it up.'

McGee took the device from Gibbs and demonstrated.

'Huh. Guess you don't need to carry batteries, then.'

McGee felt a small surge of pride as the flashlight went into a side pocket of the bag. Gibbs seemed genuinely impressed by the unfamiliar gizmo. _There's the boss's holiday gift sorted_, he thought.

Gibbs's nod of approval at the matches sealed in a zip-lock sandwich bag further increased Tim's confidence that he might make it through the day, after all.

'That's good, McGee. Let's see your utility belt.'

_His what?_ Tim's growing confidence wilted again.

'If you need to drop the pack to make better time, you're gonna need the basics on you. Here.'

Gibbs pulled a folded-up nylon belt out of a paper bag he'd been carrying, which Tim hadn't really noticed before. McGee blushed, realising that his boss had clearly expected him not to be prepared. He took the proffered item, and, curiosity winning out, zipped open the pockets. He found a lighter, water purification tablets, energy bars, and a few basic first-aid items, all in zip-lock bags, and a neatly folded thin plastic drop-cloth. Finding an empty pouch, he retrieved his pocket knife from his backpack and zipped it in.

Gibbs nodded his approval, and indicated a loop on one side of the belt.

'Good. Now you just put your canteen here when you get out of the car, and you're all set.'

McGee paled.

'Uh, Boss... I have bottled water in my bag, but I don't think there's any way to attach...'

He stopped, watching with embarrassment as Gibbs reached into his shopping bag again and handed him a stainless-steel water bottle. A D-ring was already secured to the loop at the top of the bottle, and the bottle itself was clearly the right size to fit into the harness-like straps on the utility belt.

'Fill that up, and let's get out of here.'

Mumbling his thanks, Tim returned to the kitchen to fill the bottle. As he hefted the backpack onto his shoulder and struggled to manage the utility belt, water bottle and his keys, he wondered if there was still any way to get out of this.

'C'mon, McGee, we're burning daylight. Let's go!'

To Tim's surprise, the words were not so much impatient as they were... excited?

Certain that his boss's enthusiasm did not bode well for his own survival, Tim followed him reluctantly into the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

McGee wasn't surprised when Gibbs pulled the car over at the small diner in the middle of nowhere. _Coffee fix_, he thought.

'Did you eat?'

The question caught him off guard, and for a moment he just stuttered stupidly.

'Breakfast, Tim. Did you have something to eat?'

Tim swallowed the 'Yes, Dad' that sprung immediately to mind. Abby might be able to get away with that kind of comment, but he couldn't. It was, at best, flippant; at worst, it was totally insensitive, given what had happened to Gibbs's only child.

'Uh, yeah, Boss. I had some cereal.'

Gibbs sighed, waving him out of the car.

Ten minutes later, Tim found himself perched on a stool at the old-fashioned lunch counter, staring at a plate of bacon and eggs that he didn't really want to eat. Feeling his boss's eyes on him, he moved a forkful of egg into his mouth and forced himself to chew. He'd already endured one lecture on the relationship between insufficient calories and exhaustion on the trail; he didn't want a sequel.

Gibbs sipped at his coffee and studied the map that McGee had brought with him.

'That's a good route you've picked for the kids, Tim. Nothing they can't handle, but challenging enough to make it interesting. We should be able to cover that ground in about an hour, let you get a feel for it before Saturday.'

Tim nodded, his mouth full. He was relieved to hear that Gibbs wasn't planning for this to be an all-day exercise. He was already torn between feeling like he was placing an unreasonable burden on his boss, and feeling like his boss was subjecting him to an unreasonable ordeal. An hour of hiking, even with a Marine, couldn't be so bad. Could it?

Tim tried to pay attention as Gibbs pointed out various markings on the map, explaining their significance. Some of it he knew from his research on the internet, but he still quickly felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information. He felt his eyes start to glaze over, and reached desperately for his coffee, hoping that the caffeine jolt would help him at least appear interested. After all, he really did need to learn at least some of this stuff, and quickly.

He pulled his hand back, realising that the waitress was also reaching for his cup to refill it. He smiled at her, getting a 'there you go, luv' in return. He thanked her for the refill, then forced his attention back to the two-dimensional torture device spread out on the counter.

A few minutes later, the smiling older woman was back, offering more coffee to Gibbs. The diner was nearly empty, and she lingered.

'Army?'

'Marines.'

'Ah. I can always tell the ones who've served by the maps they have. Most of the tourists have those ones that look like something out of a comic book, and even then they're lucky to get it right-side-up.'

Gibbs gave her one of his rare, genuine smiles.

'Spoken like a proud military wife.'

'Well, widow, now. My Stanley was in Vietnam, stayed on after the war. Not many did, but he said he'd found his way to make a difference. We moved out here after he retired because he never could get used to big cities. He wouldn't like me working here, but I need someone to talk to, other than my cat.'

'He sounds like a good man...'

There was a pause while Gibbs squinted at her name-tag.

'...Wanda. I think he'd understand.'

'Well, I expect I'll find out soon enough. What about you, luv? What do you do to keep yourself busy, these days?'

It was obvious that she meant what was his job, but to Tim's surprise Gibbs answered, 'I build boats.'

'You mean like for the Navy?'

'No, not ships. Boats. Wooden ones. Fishing boats, mainly. All hand-crafted...'

Gibbs and Wanda chatted for a few minutes, while Tim pushed egg around on his plate. They weren't actually excluding him from the conversation, but it wasn't a topic he could readily discuss so he remained quiet, except for a few polite responses to Wanda's questions about their plans for the day. Then one of the other patrons waved across the room to get her attention, and she moved off, patting the back of Gibbs's hand as she went.

Gibbs pointed at Tim's plate with an 'eat that' look, then headed off to the rest-room. McGee shovelled the last of the egg into his mouth and finished the rest of his coffee. He had no intention of keeping Gibbs waiting, once he got back.

Wanda came to collect his empty plate and Tim noticed, now that he wasn't determinedly keeping his eyes fixed on the map in an effort to convince Gibbs that he was at least trying to follow the lesson, that she had to step around a large cardboard box to do so. Following his gaze, she shrugged.

'It belongs on that shelf up there, but the regular delivery guy is off sick and the one they sent wouldn't put it up there for me. So, it'll just have to stay there until someone on a later shift can get it out of the way.'

Tim was instantly on his feet.

'That shelf there?' he asked, pointing, as he made his way behind the counter.

'Oh, you don't have to do that, luv...' she started to protest.

'It's no problem, really.'

Glancing around quickly, McGee liberated a small step-stool from under the counter and placed it next to the metal shelving unit. He hoisted the crate of ketchup bottles onto his shoulder, then eased himself up onto the stool. The box was heavier than he expected, and rather awkward, and he could see why the older woman couldn't manage it herself.

'Your son is a good boy.'

Tim realised that Gibbs must have returned.

'Yes, he is.'

There was a pause. Tim expected Gibbs to continue, 'but he's not my son.' Instead, he simply repeated 'Yes, he is.'

'You must be very proud of him.'

'I am.'

Tim was glad that the box was shielding his face from view.

Gibbs had once referred to Tony as his son, and Tim knew that DiNozzo was more pleased by that passing comment than he'd ever let on. But there were limits to how much could really be read into that; Gibbs had been trying to gain the trust of a man of questionable mental capacity who had been duped into being an unwitting 'suicide' bomber, and was clearly trying to establish a common ground as a basis for further conversation.

But this?

Of course, Gibbs couldn't easily explain that he was his boss, not his father, without having to elaborate on their jobs. And he'd already let the woman believe that he built boats for a living. This was most likely nothing more than an embarrassed reluctance to be caught in a fib.

But, even though he knew that Gibbs probably hadn't meant anything by it, the comment still produced conflicting emotions that both surprised and confused him.

Tim liked to think that his relationship with his boss was getting somewhat closer; Gibbs seemed less distant with him, and less terrifying. And he'd gained a new understanding of Gibbs's views on what it meant to be a member of his team, when he'd been held down and whipped – twice, now – for screwing up badly enough to merit more than a head-slap. As bonding experiences went, it wasn't one that Tim would have chosen, but it had been very effective at prompting some deep thinking about his mentor's role in his life.

But despite Tony's theory of the team's dynamic, he still couldn't believe that Gibbs would ever make the leap from seeing Tim as part of his team, to considering him part of his family. Tony, maybe, but definitely not him. And he was frankly astonished that Gibbs would be willing even to let someone think that he was his son.

Tim was also disconcerted by how pleased he was by Gibbs's comment. It was one thing for Tony to revel in their boss's affections, but he didn't need a father-figure substitute. It was unsettling to realise just how much he craved his boss's approval and attention.

And there was a bit of resentment mixed in with the other emotions. He didn't think his boss was deliberately toying with him; if anything, Gibbs seemed blithely unaware of what his agents read into these off-hand comments. But, even though he knew he wasn't deliberately being cruel, Tim felt a spark of outrage at Gibbs's casual disregard of how he might feel.

McGee shoved the box onto the shelf and turned around, carefully not calling Gibbs 'Boss'. He was well-enough trained to play along with a ruse without blowing it, even if he didn't understand its purpose in the first place and even if he was feeling emotional turmoil about the form it took. He accepted a pat on the cheek from Wanda with a cheerful 'you're welcome', replied to Gibbs's 'you ready to go?' with a 'yup' that he didn't think sounded too curt, and dropped some money on the table to cover their bill, all without letting on to Wanda that he was anything other than a dutiful son out for a hike with dear old dad _and_ without letting on to Gibbs that he'd even overheard the conversation in the first place.

He settled into the car, his mind still churning.

'Go ahead and ask.'

Tim turned to face his boss, completely startled. Sometimes the man's ability to read his mind was just too much.

'Why I didn't tell Wanda we work for NCIS, when she asked. You've been wondering for the last half-hour.'

'Uh, no, Boss...'

Gibbs just raised one eye-brow, and waited.

'Ok... Why?'

'Don't you ever get tired of the way people react when you tell them you're a federal agent?'

'D'you mean the ones who stop talking because they think you're gonna arrest them for no apparent reason, or the ones who want to know if you've ever shot someone?'

Gibbs chuckled.

'Exactly. Or the ones who want to tell you that their second cousin's next-door neighbour is a foreign operative sending coded messages with her clothesline. She had the blue sheets out yesterday, so we'd better raise the threat level.'

Tim laughed.

'I haven't heard that one! Of course, telling people I'm an author isn't that much better...'

'That's why I told Wanda you work with computers.'

'You did? Uh, sorry, Boss... I must not have been paying attention...'

'No, you were busy playing boy scout.'

'Uh, yeah. Boss, I knew you wanted to get going, but...'

'Tim, do _not_ apologise for doing the right thing.'

'Oh. Ok. Right. Sorry, Boss.'

Gibbs just shook his head and cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. It was, Tim realised with a shock, an affectionate gesture rather than a reprimand.

For one brief moment, he contemplated asking why Gibbs had encouraged Wanda's assumption that they were father and son.

Then, just as he thought he might be able to work up the nerve, Gibbs pointed out a sign telling them they were almost at their destination, and the moment passed. Resigning himself to an unpleasant hour of 'Gunny Gibbs's land-nav 101', Tim struggled not to sigh too audibly as he forced himself to pay attention to his boss's disconcertingly enthusiastic instructions.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a little more than an hour later when the two men emerged from the trail Tim had identified, with the help of a particularly useful website, as a good place to take the boys. Gibbs had led him over the course he'd marked, identifying each of the terrain features and the corresponding notations on the map, pointing out what he should look for, and the landmarks that would tell him which route to take at the various forks in the trail. Tim had heavily annotated his copy of the map, having brought an extra for just that purpose, and felt confident that he'd be able to retrace their route on the weekend.

'Thanks, Boss. That was exactly what I needed. I think I can handle doing that with the boys on Saturday.'

'Well, yeah, McGee. There's a _trail_, for God's sake! That's fine for letting the kids play at map-reading, but it's not orienteering.'

Tim stuttered, not sure how to respond to the criticism, or even, really, if it was meant as a criticism.

'C'mon. Let's see how much you've learned.'

'Boss?'

Gibbs didn't respond, just unfolded the map across the hood of the car. After studying it for a few minutes, he put a large 'X' on a rocky outcrop several miles away and nowhere near any of the marked trails. He relieved Tim of his annotated copy, stowing it in the car, and handed him the one he'd just marked.

'Uh, Boss?'

'Take us there, Tim,' Gibbs told him, tapping the 'X' with his finger.

Tim looked from Gibbs to the map and back again, growing horror plainly legible on his face.

'Boss... I... the trail... I mean, I know what I need to, for the... I mean... you said... an hour...'

'Being able to retrace a route you've already taken does _not_ mean that you know anything about land-nav, Tim.'

'Yeah, but...'

'What are you planning to say when one of your rangers asks you something that's not on the trail we just walked?'

'That, uh, we're not covering that today...'

Tim trailed off in response to the sceptical raised eyebrow. His shoulders sagged in something very much like defeat.

'C'mon. You know everything you need to, to get us there. You can do this. It'll be fun. There should be a great view when we get to the top of that rock.'

Tim stopped himself from reminding Gibbs that they had very different definitions of 'fun'.

He _really _didn't want to do this. He was already tired, and didn't particularly feel like carrying his backpack around for another couple of hours. Uphill over rough terrain, from the looks of it.

But short of sitting down and refusing to move, like a toddler throwing a tantrum, he didn't see any way of getting out of it. And since Gibbs had gone out of his way to help him avoid looking like a complete idiot in front of his troop on Saturday, it seemed ungrateful not to indulge him in the extended version. And even though this wasn't work, he was too used to following Gibbs's orders to just say 'no'.

McGee looked down at the map in his hands, taking a moment to get his bearings and decide on a route. He glanced up at Gibbs, looking for confirmation.

'You're the navigator, Tim. I'm following you.'

_Great_, he thought. _No pressure there. None at all..._

Swallowing hard, Tim started walking.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't exactly fun, Tim decided, but it was not as appallingly dreadful as he'd expected, either.

Despite his reputation for impatience, Gibbs was actually a really good teacher. And he was pointing out all kinds of details about the woods around them, not just how to find his way through them.

Tim had been a bit embarrassed when Gibbs had taken him by the shoulders and bodily steered him away from a patch of poison ivy, suggesting that, given how severely he reacted to the stuff, he really should learn how to identify it himself.

And the 'don't _ever_ eat those' a few minutes later had seemed a bit patronising to Tim's ears, especially since he had no intention of ever eating any berry that didn't come from a supermarket. Well, he could probably pick wild raspberries out of a line-up, since their domesticated cousins had grown in his childhood back yard, but even so, he wasn't that likely to be looking for dessert in the middle of a forest, was he?

But overall, it was actually kinda nice being able to spend some time with Gibbs, without Tony and without the stress of a case to solve.

Gibbs had asked him about his latest book, and whether he'd found a new publisher after the fiasco with the fake threatening letters that his old one had arranged. And he'd asked about his sister, and seemed genuinely concerned about how she was coping with having been drugged and framed for murder.

Tim had decided against asking about Lt.-Col. Mann. But, to his delight, Gibbs had told him a few amusing stories about his days in the Corps, including one about a group of young Marines who had sewed their Gunny's tent flap shut one night, after the man had tried to forbid them to drink coffee, declaring it to be bad for their health. The idea of his boss being involved in youthful mischief was a bit surreal, but he enjoyed the sense of camaraderie he got from the fact that Gibbs was sharing snippets of his past with him.

And Gibbs had asked how he'd ended up as a Youth Ranger leader in the first place. After all, the outdoorsy stuff usually associated with such organisations wasn't exactly Tim's thing. So Tim had explained that a lot had changed since Lord Baden-Powell wrote _Scouting for Boys_, and science and technology and basic civic values were emphasised more than the traditional wilderness survival stuff. He'd stopped himself before adding that it was no longer meant as a sort of pre-basic training for boys destined for military careers; one of his fellow leaders had a habit of calling 'old-fashioned' scouting-type groups 'Marines Lite', but Tim didn't think Gibbs would appreciate the sentiment. Instead, he'd talked about how much he enjoyed spending time with his Rangers, and how nervous it made him, sometimes, knowing that these kids looked up to him as a role model. Gibbs had nodded knowingly, and told him that he should only worry if he _stopped_ being nervous about letting them down.

Now, Gibbs was telling him about his ongoing battle with a persistent raccoon who apparently hadn't been briefed that the fact that Gibbs's trash can was 'guaranteed raccoon-proof' meant that he wasn't supposed to be able to treat it as a buffet. Tim chuckled, visualising one of the cartoon raccoons from some animated TV show his sister used to watch, then ducked reflexively when Gibbs shot him an 'it's not funny!' look.

They reached the top of a rather steep incline, and Tim stopped to rest for a moment, panting slightly. He took a sip of water, then screwed the cap back onto the bottle and returned it to its place on his hip. _I feel like I should be going through the Stargate or something, with all this gear_, he thought.

'Star-what?'

'Huh? Oh, did I say that out loud? I was just thinking that, with the pack and the belt and the water bottle and, well, everything, I must look like one of the characters in 'Stargate'. It's a TV show about... uh... Ancient Egypt... and... uh... outer space... it's kinda hard to explain. You wouldn't like it. They're Air Force.'

_Oh, God... I did NOT just say that... did I? Gibbs is going to KILL me..._

It took Gibbs a moment to realise that Tim had actually made a joke. He grinned, then laughed out loud, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. _It's about damn time he stops being scared of me and lightens up a bit,_ he thought, delighted.


	6. Chapter 6

Tim looked around in consternation. The terrain around him didn't seem to correspond to what the map was telling him, and a small stream was in entirely the wrong place.

'Uh, Boss... hold up a second? This doesn't look right. I think I might have taken a wrong turn somewhere...'

'Uh-huh.'

'Ok, so if that stream is this one here, then we've got to be... wait a minute... "uh-huh"?'

'You took a wrong turn about forty-five minutes ago.'

'You _knew_? And you didn't _tell _me?!'

'You wouldn't learn anything that way, Tim. Making mistakes is part of the process.'

'Yeah? Well, how am I supposed to learn from this mistake, when I don't even know _what _I did wrong and can't remember _when_ I did it? And just how is making me walk in the wrong direction for almost an hour going to teach me anything?'

Tim was getting visibly frustrated.

'What you did wrong, was going so long without double-checking your position. And I'm hoping that walking a couple of extra miles will help you remember the importance of checking that you're on course, at regular intervals, next time.'

Tim struggled to keep his temper in check, thinking to himself that there was never going to be a 'next time'.

His feet were killing him, he was tired, and the pack that Gibbs had insisted he bring felt like it was twice the weight it had been when they'd started out that morning.

And now Gibbs was telling him, in that dry tone of his and without batting an eye, that he'd known he was lost and said nothing, because of his 'you learn by screwing up' pedagogical theory that frustrated Tim at the best of times.

'C'mon. Figure out our position and plot a new course.'

Tim looked down at the map in his hand, trying to calm down enough to think clearly. He glanced at his compass, then physically turned so that 'north' and the top of the map were aligned.

'You've got the stream, and we've been heading up-hill...'

Something about Gibbs's tone made him finally snap.

'What? So _now_ you're going to help me?! You know what? I'm done! I've had enough of you just waiting for me to mess up so you can tell me what I've done wrong! Oh, wait, sorry! Maybe I'll _really _mess up and then you'll get to _spank_ me! I know I'll never be good enough at anything to make you happy! I'm not a Marine! And I'm not Tony, either! You don't have to keep reminding me!'

Gibbs was too stunned to reply. Tim shoved the map at him, dumped his backpack at his feet, and stormed off into the trees.


	7. Chapter 7

Tim didn't get very far before his anger dissipated. He slowed his pace, then finally stopped altogether, sinking down to sit with his back against a massive tree-trunk and his knees tucked up under his chin.

He'd never been comfortable with Gibbs's theory that you learn by doing, and feeling, and doing it wrong and then doing it again and again until you get it right. He learned from books. Even when he was learning to shoot, it had been a mathematical calculation of trajectory and force, for him.

And the kinds of things he tried to learn, he usually picked up pretty easily.

So, when Gibbs decided to play DI and teach his hapless subordinates some aspect of Marine training that he suddenly decided was vitally important, Tim invariably quailed inside. Like when his boss had ordered him onto the ground to show him how to break a sentry's neck. The man could have just explained that, when you find a body with its neck contorted like the one lying on the living-room floor, you know you're looking for someone who would know how to snap someone's neck with their bare hands. He really didn't need the first-hand demonstration of how it's done.

Especially since Gibbs's lessons usually entailed something that Tim wasn't, and never would be, good at. He felt like his boss was setting him up for failure.

And, even when his inner voice of reason tried to tell him that Gibbs wasn't _trying_ to humiliate him, to make him feel inadequate, to remind him that he lacked most of the basic traits that the ex-Marine considered valuable in a man, the fact that he invariably _did_ fail at whatever he was supposed to be learning always had him feeling inadequate and miserable.

Tim kicked himself for thinking that today would be any different.

He was right in the first place, when he'd been dreading having his boss teach him how to follow a topographical map. He would have been so much more comfortable just memorising the information on that friendly web-site on orienteering, and parroting enough of it to his troop to get through the day. It wasn't as if a bunch of grade-schoolers would know enough to humiliate him with his lack of expertise.

He never should have let himself start to _enjoy_ spending time with his boss, to let down his barriers, to stop expecting to fail at every moment. He'd let himself start to think that he might get through the day without once again proving his incompetence. So, when he did screw up, he wasn't prepared for it, and the failure had stung even more sharply than usual.

Tim drained the last of the water from the bottle at his waist, wishing that he hadn't dropped the rest of his supplies in an angry huff.

Actually, he wished he hadn't done a lot of things.

He groaned, burying his face against his knees.

He didn't really mouth off at Gibbs like that, did he? It was all just a bad dream or something, right? It can't really have happened.

Because Gibbs was a Marine, and Marines take that being disrespectful stuff seriously.

Tim struggled to suppress a wave of nauseating panic at the realisation that Gibbs would probably spank him for talking to him like that... for _screaming_ at him like that. A moment later, he realised to his dismay that he was facing a spanking _in the middle of a forest_... Tony had told him that being whipped with a switch was the worst thing, ever... what if Gibbs...?

It was all a dream. It had to have been.

Because even if Gibbs wasn't going to take a switch to him for acting like a cross between a sullen teenager and a hysterical toddler, he couldn't really have said those things to his boss.

Could he?

Convinced that he had just destroyed his career and any hope of earning the respect of the mentor he admired so much, he closed his eyes and curled even tighter into himself, rocking slightly the way he used to do as a small child whenever he was frightened or upset.

He knew he shouldn't care so much what his boss thought of him. But he couldn't help it.

He'd been eager to please this gruff ex-Marine ever since his first TAD assignment with him, during that murder case in Norfolk. Since then, the slightest praise, the occasional 'good job', an approving glance, had been like honey to him. He wasn't quite like a puppy waiting to be patted... but it wasn't that far off, sometimes.

He knew this.

And he felt a quiet embarrassment about being so dependant on this man's approval.

This man, who so clearly loved Tony like the son he'd never had.

And who finally seemed to be accepting Tim as part of his team, offering him advice and encouragement in a softer voice than usual, being almost affectionate in his use of a nickname for his youngest agent.

And who he knew would do anything to protect him, as a member of his team.

It was that sense of belonging that had helped him make sense of his feelings after Gibbs had whipped him that first time. Gibbs was his leader, and he would obey him without hesitation... or would accept the consequences of failing to meet his exacting expectations.

And even if his boss never actually told him that he was forgiven, never offered him the sense of closure that he desperately craved after a spanking, he knew that being allowed to remain a part of Gibbs's team meant that he was still part of that privileged few the older man saw as _his_.

So he tried, desperately, not to resent the absence of more explicit absolution, of greater recognition of his successes as well as his failures. And he tried not to resent the fact that he would never be as important as _Tony_ so clearly was to their boss.

Most days, he was pretty successful.

But sometimes, like today, it was just too much for him and he felt like he was going to snap in half from the tension.

Apparently, he just had.

A slight rustling alerted him to movement nearby, and he looked up tentatively to find his boss standing over him, carrying both their backpacks, and looking down at him with unexpected tenderness and concern.


	8. Chapter 8

'You want to tell me what that was about?'

'No. Not really.'

Gibbs didn't reply, and simply sat down next to Tim. It took a conscious effort not to pat the younger man's knee or tousle his hair, but he didn't think that the gestures would be particularly welcome.

'My first land-nav exercise, I got so lost I didn't get back in time for an evening liberty I had planned. Missed a date with Shannon.'

Tim looked at him in astonishment.

'Really?'

'Oh, yeah. She thought I stood her up, and wouldn't speak to me for a week.'

Tim gave him a tentative smile before looking away. It was clear that even the knowledge that he wasn't alone in needing more than one try to get it right wasn't enough to make him feel entirely comfortable about his own lack of immediate success.

The problem, Gibbs thought, was at least in part that Tim was so smart, and had always learned things so easily. He wasn't used to not understanding something right away, to not knowing how to do something right the first time he tried. And he was having trouble getting his head around the idea that he was supposed to get things wrong, sometimes.

'Getting something wrong, before you learn how to do it right, is not failure, Tim.'

'No, but never actually getting it right, is.'

Tim's voice was dull and emotionless. Not a good sign.

'How do you know?'

'What?'

'How do you know you'll never get it right? You made one mistake – _one_ – out of an entire day of doing things right, and you decided to give up. Your only problem is that you're too used to things being easy for you. You never had to struggle through a class, and you're like most straight-A students... you get discouraged and give up, when you find something that doesn't come naturally. _That's_ failure, Tim.'

Gibbs almost held his breath as he waited for Tim's reaction. Even if Tim got mad at him, there was some chance they might get somewhere; anger might make him actually open up about what was going on in that head of his. But if he just shut down and refused to talk, this day that he'd hoped would strengthen his relationship with the younger man might end up damaging it, perhaps irreparably. It was a risk, but with his choices limited to convincing Tim that he wasn't a screw-up, and patting him on the head and telling him it's ok to be a screw-up, he knew which one he had to take.

'So I'm supposed to just keep trying, when I know I'm never going to be able to do it?'

'No, you're supposed to keep trying, because you know you'll eventually get better.'

'And if I don't?'

'You will.'

There was a long moment of silence.

'You're wrong, you know.'

'Tim...'

'No, I mean about me never failing a class. I did, once. In high school.'

The words were still bitter, but his voice wasn't as disengaged as it had been earlier.

'Phys. Ed.?'

Tim actually gave him a half-laugh before he answered.

'No, actually. I mean, I didn't do _great_ in gym, but I was ok... and half the mark was for 'health', and I was good at labelling diagrams and stuff like that, so I actually didn't do too badly, overall. No... it was shop. I just... couldn't do it. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get my brain and my hands and the wood to work together and nothing ever looked the way it was supposed to when I was done. There was this one assignment, a shelf for knick-knacks... everyone else in the class did this fancy scroll-work on the sides and back, and I couldn't even get mine straight enough that stuff wouldn't slide right off of it. They were going to make me take it again, but the shop teacher convinced my guidance counsellor that there was no point, because I was _that_ hopeless. So they made me take _HomeEc_ instead, to fulfil the requirement. Which just did wonders for my social life.'

'You should have told the other guys you were taking it to meet girls.'

'Yeah, I tried that. It didn't help. I did, however, learn how to bake a _great_ cherry pie.'

Gibbs smiled slightly.

'Which, I guess, is somewhat more useful than spending another semester making things that looked like a kindergarten's art project.'

'Did you have the right tools?'

'Huh? Oh, sure, Boss... the school had a pretty good shop...'

'But did they have _left-handed_ tools for you?'

'No...'

'Well, _there's _your problem, Tim! No wonder you couldn't do it. With some things it wouldn't have mattered, but with a table saw you wouldn't be able to see where you were cutting, or you'd have had to do it right-handed. Either way, you wouldn't get a clean line. And if the basic outline was off, not much you did afterwards would have mattered.'

'I... uh... never thought of that...'

'Your shop teacher _should_ have. You can't have been the only left-handed kid in the school.'

'No, but I was the only one in my class...'

'That doesn't make it ok.'

Tim seemed lost in thought, clearly processing the notion that the great 'failure' of his childhood was largely due to an uneven playing field.

Gibbs took advantage of the lull in the conversation to reach into his backpack, pulling out two plastic-wrapped sandwiches. He passed one to Tim, and was relieved when the younger man took it from him with a mumbled 'thank you.' He retrieved two bottles of water from Tim's bag, taking advantage of the opportunity to lighten his load a little for him, and handed one over. Tim nestled it next to him, and sat picking idly at the wrapper on his sandwich.

Gibbs was somewhat encouraged by how well this was going, so far. But even more than his obvious difficulty coping with the fact that he wasn't perfect, Gibbs was worried by Tim's apparent perception that he was hoping for his agent to get it wrong, that he somehow enjoyed watching him struggle and fail, that he was looking for opportunities to punish him. If Tim really thought that, then Gibbs was doing something very wrong with this young man, and he needed to find a way to make it right.

He thought back to the case a few weeks earlier, when one of McGee's fans had killed two people, then gone after Abby in a delusional effort to change the outcome of his next book. Gibbs had spanked him afterwards, for not reporting threatening letters that could have been ruled out as a hoax long before they became a distraction that delayed the effort to find the real obsessive fan. Tim had, naturally, been reluctant to be whipped, but he had submitted without much real protest. And, although he'd struggled briefly in an obvious moment of panic, he'd settled down immediately when he'd told him to stop fighting. And he'd never once said 'no' or 'stop', despite his cries of pain. At the time, he'd thought that Tim accepted his authority and was willing to take his punishment; he wasn't supposed to _want_ a spanking, but he didn't seem unduly upset about it.

Now, he wasn't so sure what had been going on in the younger man's head. If McGee thought that his punishment was unfair, or, heaven forbid, abusive...

And then Gibbs had basically threatened him, afterwards. He'd watched McGee sobbing uncontrollably, his pain and emotion painfully obvious, and he'd told him quietly, 'You put yourself in unnecessary danger, Tim, and you'll end up right back here, every time.' He'd meant it to be a reassuring reminder that he cared about him, that he was determined to do whatever it takes to protect him, even if it meant protecting him from himself. He was no longer sure that Tim had taken it that way.

And that bit about Gibbs expecting him to be a Marine, to be like Tony... Tim had been painfully insecure when he'd first joined his team, but he'd seemed more confident lately. And even the 'sibling rivalry' between Tim and Tony seemed to have improved. Tony still teased the 'probie', but Tim was fighting back more, and seemed to realise that it wasn't malicious. And his own relationship with his youngest agent was becoming closer as well; more light-hearted comments, casual conversations that weren't necessarily about work... and today, which he'd hoped would encourage Tim to come out of his shell a little more.

And he'd thought it was working.

Now, it seemed that he'd completely misjudged everything about this complicated young man.

'Tim, when I arranged your transfer from Norfolk... if I had wanted someone who was a Marine, I would have hired a Marine. You are on my team, because I want _you _on my team.'

'I know you thought I could do it, Boss... but I keep letting you down...'

'Listen to me, McGee. The day I decide you don't belong on my team, you'll know about it. Is that clear enough for you?'

He nodded sheepishly, still obviously not entirely believing it.

'Seriously, Tim... I don't push you because I want to see you fail. I push you because I know how much you are capable of.'

'I know that, Boss. Most of the time. It's just... sometimes... I feel like such an idiot when I can't do it, or I can't do it well enough, or I can't do it fast enough... it just feels like... oh, I don't know...'

The quiet words trailed off and McGee huddled up a little tighter. Gibbs reached over and gently turned his face towards him.

'You are a good agent, Tim. One of the best. Not many people last six months working with me. You're still here. What does that tell you?'

'I'm still not as good as Tony...'

'At some things. And there are other things that you can do that he can't. That's how it works, on a team. You're not _supposed_ to be good at the same things. That's why you have different people, with different skills. No one person can do it all.'

'But...'

'No. No "but"s.'

McGee still looked sceptical, but he stopped protesting.

Gibbs took another bite of his sandwich, and was pleased to see that Tim had finally unwrapped his and was nibbling tentatively at the edges. After only a brief pause, however, Tim spoke up quietly.

'Uh, Boss?'

'Yeah?'

'Are you...'

Tim's voice trailed off.

'Am I what, McGee?'

Tim took a deep breath, as if he were steeling himself to say something difficult.

'Are you going to spank me? For... uh... talking to you... like that... earlier...'

The quiet words were spoken with a childlike innocence.

Gibbs just stared at him for a moment, too surprised to reply. Finally, he found his voice.

'Tim... I know you well enough to know that that wasn't characteristic for you. Spanking you isn't going to teach you anything you don't already know. And as for you not doing it again... well, if you're that upset, _nothing_ is going to be much of a deterrent.'

Tim still looked confused, and it took a while for him to work out that that meant 'no'.

'Uh... ok. Good. I mean... if you... Sorry, Boss, I'm just not sure how to tell when you want to hit me.'

Gibbs reached out and tipped Tim's chin up with his finger, forcing him to look at him.

'Tim, I never _want_ to spank you. I don't like doing it. But I would rather spank you than have to bury you. If my belt is a disincentive that makes you think before you do something stupid, then I'm going to use that to help me keep you safe. Behaviour that puts you, or anyone else, at risk earns a spanking. That includes disobeying a direct order, and lying to me.'

He waited a few seconds before continuing.

'Are you ok with that?'

'What?'

'Do you think it is unfair, or unreasonable, or inappropriate, for me to spank you under those circumstances? Because if you have a problem with that method of punishing you, we can find something else that will work for you. I'm not willing to just let it go; you're too important. And I'd rather keep it off the Director's desk, for your sake. But I'm not going to make you do anything you're not comfortable with. It wouldn't work, anyway, if you're too busy resenting me.'

Tim's mind was a jumble of emotions.

Tony had told him, when he was struggling to come to terms with his first spanking at his boss's hands, that Gibbs wouldn't insist on continuing to punish him that way, if he found it traumatic. Tim hadn't entirely believed him, and had been appalled by the thought of admitting to the Marine that he was terrified of the pain of another spanking and emotionally devastated by the experience. Now, to have Gibbs telling him basically the same thing... he didn't know whether to be grateful or humiliated.

For a moment, he considered speaking the words he so desperately wanted to say. He could ask Gibbs not to spank him again. He could avoid the pain and fear each punishment brought him. He'd be able to start breathing normally, to stop worrying every time he made the slightest mistake that he was going to end up sprawled across the conference room table crying out in pain while his boss whipped him with his belt.

He wondered briefly what Gibbs's 'something else' would entail. Would he make him run laps until he collapsed in exhaustion, or clean the locker-room showers with a toothbrush, like he'd always imagined punishment to mean, for a Marine? Or ground him like a little kid, with a curfew and orders not to watch TV or use the internet, except for work? He had a feeling that his boss could be very creative, but surely nothing he could come up with could be worse than a spanking.

But, he thought ruefully, he would probably feel as bad about letting Gibbs down, as embarrassed about being disciplined, as confused and distraught by his own actions as well as by the consequences, no matter what form his punishment took. If he was really being honest with himself, what he hated was the experience of being punished and knowing that he deserved to be punished. Simply not being spanked wouldn't actually have as much of an effect as he wished it would.

And, he realised with a shock, he didn't like the idea of being the only member of Gibbs's team who didn't get spanked. And it wasn't just that he knew how much DiNozzo would tease him about not being able to handle it. As much as he hated it, and as much as he hoped never to experience Gibbs's belt again, he didn't want to be left out, to be set apart as someone to be punished merely like an NCIS employee rather than as one of _Gibbs's_ team.

Tim's eyes widened in surprise at his own decision.

'No! I mean... Oh, God, I can't believe I'm saying this... I'm ok with it, Boss.'

Gibbs nodded, giving Tim a quick squeeze on the shoulder.

'Ok.'

'But... for what it's worth... I really hope it doesn't happen very often!'

Gibbs chuckled.

'Me too, Tim.'

McGee gave Gibbs one of his sheepish, shy, half-embarrassed smiles and suddenly found his sandwich fascinating.

His mind was still churning.

Gibbs had told him that he spanked him as a way of protecting him from his own recklessness. And he already knew that the off-the-record punishments were a way of protecting him from more official consequences for his actions. And Gibbs had seemed seriously concerned about the prospect of Tim being injured or killed because of an avoidable mistake. And they were here, in the middle of a forest, because Gibbs was teaching him the sort of thing that fathers teach their sons. And there was that thing in the diner, earlier today. Tony had tried to convince him that his 'Gibbs is Dad' theory applied to him as well, but he hadn't believed him; now, as he studied his boss out of the corner of one eye, he wondered if this undemonstrative man to whom he was so devoted actually returned feelings stronger than those of a boss for a subordinate.

Tim finished his sandwich and glanced up, noticing that Gibbs was studying the map. Catching his eye, his boss smiled gently.

'Ok. You ready to head back?'

Tim answered, hesitantly, 'Uh, actually, Boss... I thought that maybe... I could try again? To... uh... find that target you marked?'

Gibbs was obviously surprised, and Tim regretted his impulsive decision to prove to his mentor... and to himself... that he was not a quitter.

'I mean... unless you... I mean, I know I've taken up most of your day already... so... if you don't want...'

'Let's go.'

'You're sure you don't mind?'

Gibbs didn't reply, just handed him the map, grinning.

Tim wasn't sure, but he thought he could see pride in his boss's eyes as he pulled his compass out of his pocket to get his bearings.


	9. Epilogue

Tim stepped into the clearing and stopped, his eyes drawn to the edge of the cliff several yards away and the vista beyond. Mother Nature in all her glory lay stretched out below them. Gibbs had been right. The view was spectacular.

He turned to his boss, a huge grin on his face.

'I did it! I actually did it! We're here!'

Gibbs returned the smile, amused by the surprised tone in the younger man's declaration.

'I knew you could do it, Tim.'

Tim shrugged off his backpack and sat down, using the bag as a backrest. He flexed and stretched his tired feet, still almost giddy with his unexpected success. Gibbs sat down beside him and, to his surprise, patted him affectionately on the knee.

'I'm proud of you, son.'


End file.
